Do fiber artists dream of electric blue sheep?

Rain

This is the time when Seattle and I coexist in peace. There seems a justice in the Sound and the mountains that surround me and slight blanket of clouds that half covers the stars. The moon has set or is concealed, but she’s out there. Broadway is quiet, almost deserted, but not quite. I still have my ID tags on. They seem appropriate. The next class of volunteers will have their ID’s signed by the new chief, which seems a bit.. false..

Was a decent shift. We had a fair amount of follow up to do when we got in. The day had been pretty insane, I guess, and the team before us left us about eight reports to follow up on. We got through about six before it got too late to be calling people. The rest of the night was pretty quiet. The radio and the precinct were pretty busy, a couple of ugly situations which we didn’t expect to get called for. One in particular played itself out in my mind in the car on the way home. It was raining tonight, not really rain, but more of a showers type of thing, almost mist, sort of coming and going. It’s sort of funny how once you live here for a while, rain takes on as many different meanings as snow does for Eskimos. Anyway, we got a report from an officer about one or so that we’d heard the call out for. The officer involved is one who is pretty good about calling VST out, so we figured something must have gone bad for her not to call us to the scene. The victim is five months pregnant and had been beaten in the street by the father of the child. It’s one of those scenes that seems like it’s from the movies. You can see the sort of black glow of the rain slicked streets and the glare of the streetlights along some deserted stretch and a woman curled into the fetal position trying to protect herself, and the child, from the rain of blows falling around her. Crying, though it could just be the rain. He’s a darker figure, darting in and out of time and space. And a car drives by and you see the lights flash and they take up your whole field of vision for a moment, blinding you, and then you flash to inside the car, where there’s a regular guy driving home late, maybe from work or school or something. And he glimpses what’s going on and he’s not sure, can’t convince himself that the glimpse is real, so he circles back, looks closer and picks up the cell phone. He shakes a little talking to the operator, who puts him through to the dispatcher. And that’s where it’s not a scene in a movie anymore. I remember the dispatcher calling out the call. I remember listening to catch the address and as much of the details as the caller could give the dispatcher that the dispatcher could call out over the radio to the officer. And then the officers respond. A few minutes later they arrive. Situation under control, one in custody. That’s the end, until we get the report. The woman is in the hospital. Not sure if she’ll lose the baby. She refused to give a statement, point for the next team to follow up on in the morning. He was arrested on the basis of a witness’s statement, arrest screened by the sargeant, booked into King County. First appearance will be Monday because they’ll push for a felony because she’s pregnant. He’ll likely get off if she doesn’t change her mind about giving a statement. If the baby is his, she pr’bly won’t. Unless she loses it, which seems a horrible trade, one life, not yet begun, traded for one life of uncertain quality.

*sigh* And that’s it. We don’t always find out the end, especially if they slip through, if they’re not ready to leave. Sometimes there isn’t an end, just an until next time.